Freak
by kazoquel4
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is an easy target for bullies, because he doesn't have anyone to stick up for him. ONE-SHOT. Kid!lock. Reviews welcome. Rated for one bad word.


**Disclaimer: I do not own the character of Sherlock Holmes, or the BBC show Sherlock.**

**Additional Information: Sherlock is thirteen in this story. I always believed he would have been bullied as a child, and that lead to his wary, anti-social tendencies as he grew older. This is pretty depressing, so… yeah.**

* * *

"Stand and fight you little freak!"

Sherlock kept his head down, refusing to turn around. His hand was clenched in a vice-like grip around the strap of his book bag, knuckles turning white. Dark eyes stayed focused on the ground, blank gaze not leaving his feet.

"Oy, did you hear me, Holmes? Where do you think you're going?"

A hand gripped his shoulder. Sherlock let out a small gasp as he was spun around to face his attackers, a group of tough-looking boys, all wearing matching smirks.

"Let go of me," Sherlock snapped, yanking away from the grip holding him in place.

The boy who had been holding him narrowed his eyes, curling his lip as he looked over Sherlock. "And how's the freak doing today?" he sneered. "Done any of your freaky little deductions?"

"Don't you have better things to do?" Sherlock said quietly, trying to quell his growing rage.

"Aw, and miss the chance to hang out with our good friend Sherlock?" another boy from the back cooed sarcastically.

"That can't be right, Frank!" another laughed. "The little freak doesn't have friends!"

The gang burst into a round of laughter. Sherlock stood there, peering out at the group through his curly locks. He scanned the assortment of boys in front of him, eyes resting on the supposed leader, the one who had grabbed onto him earlier. Sherlock set his jaw into a defiant sneer, lifting his chin slightly.

"Someone's not been having a nice day, Jeffrey" he said softly.

The laughter died down. Jeffrey narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, seemingly curious despite himself.

"D- on our science test this morning," Sherlock reported. "You meant to study but were side-tracked last night when Veronica broke up with you. No, she didn't break up with you… she was caught cheating, wasn't she? You've been even more short-tempered than usual today, and have been avoiding her like the plague. Oh, and just an hour ago in math class-"

"You aren't even in my math class," Jeffrey said in a low voice, hands clenched tightly into fists.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, looking slightly confused. "So?"

"Why, you little-"

And suddenly there were hands on Sherlock's chest, pushing him, and he was losing his footing and falling to the ground. He landed hard, but the only thing that would alert anyone to any discomfort was the slight grunt he emitted when he smacked against the ground. His book bag hit the ground and burst open, letting loose a rain of loose papers and pens scattering against the ground. Sherlock looked after them despairingly, knowing he'd have to pick them all up on his own.

"How could you possibly know all that?" Jeffrey hissed, standing over him and glaring down. "Who told you?"

Sherlock was forced to crane his neck to get a good look at the boy's face. The rest of the gang stood behind their leader, looking equally as full of malice.

"No one told me. I observed," he said simply.

Jeffrey snorted. "Observed," he said sarcastically. "Yeah, right. It's impossible to know all that just by _observing_."

"It's not my fault you're all idiots," Sherlock said bravely, giving his attacker a hard look.

Jeffrey pulled back his fist before letting it fly. It connected with Sherlock's jaw, sending him rolling over onto his side.

"Listen here you _freak_," he said in a hard voice. "You think you're all that, waltzing around the school like you own the place. Just because you make dumb little deductions about anything and everything. I don't know what's wrong with you, but there has to be something, because no _normal _person would be able to do that."

He kicked Sherlock sharply in the side. The boy let out a hiss of pain, curling in on himself in an attempt to block the attempts. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, the right side of his face already bruising. But he didn't fight back. What could he do, anyways?

"If you haven't noticed, it's not getting you anywhere," Jeffrey went on, aiming another kick at Sherlock's other side. "It's not like you've got _friends. _It must be so lonely, being hated by everyone. You'll never have friends, because no one wants to be around a smart-ass little freak like _you_!"

He got in one last kick to Sherlock's back. Still glaring, Jeffrey backed away, staring at the boy on the floor in disgust. "Let's go," he said to his gang, flicking his hair back. "We'll leave the freak to his stupid mystery books."

He stomped off down the hall. The rest of the gang trickled after him, still laughing over their shoulder at Sherlock, who was still curled up on the floor.

"Freak!" they called over his shoulder.

Their voices died away. When he was sure they were gone, Sherlock slowly untangled himself, stretching his aching limbs. He winced as his chest and side throbbed, laying a long-fingered hand on the sorest spot. Slowly sitting up, he reached up to touch the side of his face, which he knew would be black and blue before the day was over. Reaching up to wipe his nose, he brought his hand down, staring at the smear of blood left on his fingers.

His bag lay to his left. He reached out, fumbling for the strap and pulling it close to him. Silently he began to gather his fallen supplies, sweeping the pens and pencils back into his bag. He made no noise except for the occasional sniffle.

When he had cleaned up, he staggered to his feet, still slightly unsteady. Hefting his bag onto his shoulder, he set off along the deserted school corridor, footfalls echoing in the emptiness. He reached the front doors and slipped outside into the cool air, pausing for a moment to take a deep breath.

The school was completely empty at this point; the gang had disappeared and no student ever stayed behind longer than they had to. Sherlock wondered dimly what would have happened if someone had been there to witness the attack he had just been victim to.

Then he realized nothing would have happened.

While Jeffrey and his stupid minions were nothing more than ignorant pricks, they had been correct. Sherlock _didn't _have friends, seeing as most of the school regarded him with a constant state of exasperation. In fact, he was positive many of them knew about how often he was beat-up and hoped that it would smack some sense into him. Make him more normal, maybe. Didn't they know he had already tried? He couldn't just turn it on and off; unfortunately, it was who he was.

Sherlock didn't know what was wrong with him. He had tried to figure it out, he really had, but the fact of the matter was that he was just _different_. He was fated to a life alone, all because he was smarter than everyone else. He would forever be Sherlock Holmes, the lonely freak.

Rage swelled within him, his throat clenching. He spun on the wall with an angry hiss, lashing out with his foot. He immediately regretted this decision, however, as his foot flared with pain and he let out a sharp gasp, jumping away from the concrete wall.

Unbidden tears leaped into his eyes as the stress of the day crashed down on him. Sherlock impatiently swiped them away, taking a deep breath and trying to fight them down. He was Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes did not cry, under any circumstances.

Straightening his shoulders, Sherlock continued his walk down the steps, face steady and emotionless.

He was Sherlock Holmes, the genius. He was Sherlock Holmes, the lonely freak. And he wouldn't cry.


End file.
